A Final Curtain Call
by Annie.London
Summary: Holmes often said he would make a master criminal, what if he gave in to the idea...
1. How It All Started

Right, so this is my first major fic- carrying it on depends on whether I can be inspired enough to keep it up- so reviews would very much be appreciated.

As much as I wish I could, I don't own any of this. Yet… :P

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Found in 2010, the following extracts are taken from an account written by Inspector Giles Lestrade, who, unknowingly, has the only details of the event that ended the great detective's career.

It was the morning of November 7th 1989, and a rather chirpy bird was I, having just put the leader of the gang calling themselves The Regents Park Robbers behind bars, earning me another well deserved feather in my cap. The weather outside was mild for the time of year, and I couldn't help glancing over to the front page of The Times, and seeing my name in its print.

During the 6th, or was it 7th cup of tea, I was wakened from my reverie by a sharp tap on my office door.

"Another case for you, Sir", the lad smiled as he walked through the door. A bright young lad, is Constable Downey, but has not quite mastered that fine art of tea making just yet. An obvious downfall, but promising nevertheless.

"Ah, well, leave it on the side, there, lad" I replied, as I sifted through paperwork.

Paperwork. I would rather die ten times over, than have sort out one case worth of paperwork. The endless number of times and dates and statements to write up- solving the case is only half the work!

On that last note, I decided, however many feathers there were in my cap, I am still only human, and could only handle one thing at at time, so on my lunch break, I took a cab to Baker Street and read through the notes of this new case, intending on place the matter before Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

As anticipated, I found him lounging about the place in his dressing gown, clutching that old pipe of his, and adding to the stuffiness of the room for which he was so fond. Dr Watson was not so keen however, and had perched himself by the open window, taking in the view of the great city.

"A funny sort of occurrence we got here, Mr. Holmes" I started.

"And let me see, yes, you can't take it- the paperwork of Regent Street Case is taking up most of your valuable time, yes? Finishing it off neatly?" he replied, the corners of his mouth turning upwards slightly.

"Why, yes, Mr. Holmes, that's quite right- making it all neat and tidy"

Having known him for however many years, the fact that his mind was still as sharp as it was when we met, was a reminder of just, well...how good he is! I'm just thankful that he's on our side of the law, or we really would be in danger!

I gave him the facts of the case, and awited his reaction.

"A dog, Lestrade. A missing dog. Has my reputation suddenly deteriorated overnight? Am I now a saviour to the four legged creatures of this vast expanse? I was asked to retrieve a cat only last week **[1]** No Lestrade, I won't do it."

And that was the end of that.

Or so I thought.

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**[1]** This fic, somehow manages to co- incite with one I wrote earlier- 'A Deceptive Case'- Just a quick, funny one- shot which you may care to take a look at!

That blue button just down there- it gives you chocolate if you press it…


	2. A Significant Development

Et voila! Second chapter! Hope you enjoy!

And, yes, I own Sherlock Holmes.

Had you fooled there, didnt I! Okay, not really- I own nothing here. :(

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November 9th. A day, unlikely to be forgotten by any members of the Metropolitan Police Force. Or anyone else for that matter.

It was the day of the Moorcroft Scandal, when the Countess of that name had her yellow diamond necklace purloined from right under her nose. Her pride and joy, she always looked on that necklace with the utmost pleasure, though, ironically it was one of the last things she ever looked at, as she was murdered by the thief!

A mature woman she was, well loved by all who knew her, and still with in control of her social graces. I heard she attended the ball to honour the news of her nephews engagement, and a more lively, jolly woman you could not wish to find. The loss will certainly be marked by all.

You remember the missing dog a few days back? Well, the lucky things been found! I may mention that it happened to be the very dog belonging to the Countess Moorcroft, of whom I've just mentioned- and such a devoted Springer Spaniel, Caesar was, he was actually found outside the gates of his old house, the place being locked up for Police work you understand. No-one really knows how he got back, though

As it happened, by this time the matter of The Regents Park Robbers, I had cleared up, so I was deemed charge of this case. Ahah! I thought! Another chance to prove myself!

And that was when the other scandal started.

My constables had finished their investigations of the house, cleared away the body, and tidied up the room, so the nephew, who was staying with her could move back in, which he did so, taking Caesar with him.

Now, I didn't know it at the time, but Caesar happened to be a well respected sniffer dog, and within seconds of him entering the room in which the tragedy occurred, he showed interest in a scrap of material, no more than threads, yet identifiably navy blue in colour, that we'd found on the carpet in the room. Sniffing it closely, he then proceeded to behave in a most extraordinary manner!

Barking like blazes, and yapping and howling, the young Spaniel scratched at the door desperately trying to get out, and realising that he obviously had a strong talent in that very handy field of sniffing, we opened the door, leash in hand and were taken for a run by the animal.

Twisting through drunken alleys, passing clubs and offices, being cursed by the drunks in the East End, then greeted by the gentleman of Pall Mall, being led this way and that through the back streets of London, my canine accomplice seemed to know the route we took as if it were his daily routine.

From the backstreet alleys, we then turned into a street I was more familiar with.

Now, Caesar slowed the pace, giving me time to find my breath again. The animals nose stuck to pavement like a magnet, going at a steady, slower speed until we reached the end of our journey.

My disorientation turned to disbelief. We were in Baker Street. Outside Number 221B.

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Sorry, chocolates all gone, but cookies however are in great supply… you know what you have to do... :P


	3. Something Not Quite Right

Sorry for the ridiculously long gap! Exams are stressful... :(

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A policeman calling at this certain address in question was not an odd occurrence. Far from it. But this time, I could not fail to realise something was different about today. I tied the dog outside, and drew myself up, trying hopelessly to get my head around things.

I rang the bell, as usual, the landlady greeted me as usual, I clambered up the 17 steps, as usual, and was greeted by Baker Streets renowned tenant, as usual. Nothing out of the common so far.

Holmes was lounging around in his dressing gown, scraping his bow over the delicate strings, and obviously conducting one of his many and varied experiments with it. This particular research, I noted, seemed to be how long his suffering companion could tolerate that infernal screeching, for his eyes flickered over to the good Doctor who, engaged in his notes, had the look of a man of long suffering- his head leant on his left hand, muffling the sound through one ear, while the other scribbled furiously in a small notepad.

All perfectly normal.

However, when I described the circumstances which had brought me (I shall not bore you with the full details) the screeching and the scribbling ceased, the jaded eyes became wider and the tension in the room grew thicker.

"…and he led me here" I finished. Quite lamely.

Then, the Doctor burst out laughing. Something I had never seen before. Through his tears of laughter, I managed to hear words to the effect of "So you think Holmes did it? (more laughter) You think that he, (here, he motioned toward the other man) the most patriotic, law abiding man, who has locked up half of the most dangerous men in London, has (yet more laughter) suddenly altered side, and become one of the people he defends the realm from!? No, I don't believe it!"

I turned to the man in question.

"It is my duty to ask you where you were between the hours of 12 and 3 in the morning, Mr. Holmes." I said, as polite as could in the circumstances. I mean, it's not everyday you interrogate one of the foremost champions of the law now, is it?

Holmes sat thoughtful, before speaking

"Frankly, if you must know, Inspector, and, of course you do, I was in the East End. Disguised as a loafer, I might add. I could not have been recognised, did not speak to anyone and was not seen at the hour the crime was committed."

His attitude seemed frank and honest... but my suspicions were aroused, by what I simply cannot tell you, for there was something different within that room, something unusual, something... I did not like. It was too simple, to admit to all that, the scrap of material was miniscule, we wouldn't have found it except for Caeser, who was a trusted dog, Holmes said himself that "Dogs don't make mistakes".

But why would he do it?

Now here, I had to argue with myself. Was there reasonable justification in locking up 'the great detective', or not? I mean, who would seriously suspect him of murder? If I arrested him, I would be the laughing stock of the Yard… Yet, he had an established reputation as a great actor, and some of his earlier words were not letting me forget them

"I would have made a formidable criminal"

Minutes of silence passed

I looked into his eyes, and there was something there that told me what to do.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of The Countess Moorcroft."

The room went silent.

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As always, you know what to do... think of the dougnuts... :P


End file.
